


Evermore

by Grandeur_Raconteur



Series: Rock and Roll (Led Zeppelin, 1971, Led Zeppelin IV, Side A) [2]
Category: Doctor Strange (2016), Doctor Strange (Comics), Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man - All Media Types, Spider-Man: Homecoming (2017), The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Doctor Dad, F/M, Gen, SO FLUFFY, The Hobbit - Freeform, The choice in book was really just an excuse to have Stephen read in Smaug's voice, lots of fluff, spider son, well fluffy for me
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-15
Updated: 2018-10-15
Packaged: 2019-08-02 12:03:13
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,896
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16304846
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Grandeur_Raconteur/pseuds/Grandeur_Raconteur
Summary: After an exhausting day at work, all Doctor Stephen Strange wants is a stiff drink.Instead, he and his son, Peter, take a brief sojourn to Middle Earth.(In other words, Stephen reads five-year-old Peter The Hobbit and does a bang-up job with Smaug's voice)





	Evermore

**Author's Note:**

> Hey all! So this is a brief fic I wrote as a way to figure out the relationship between Stephen and Peter in my WIP, Wish You Were Here. You don't need to be reading that to enjoy this fic. However, for context, Peter is Stephen's biological son, and for various circumstances, they have been separated since not long after the accident that destroyed Stephen's hands and (in my fic) killed Stephen's wife and Peter's mother. 
> 
> I wrote this to help me to get a feel for their dynamic in the past to make their reunion easier to write, and it certainly helped...and made me realize that a plot detail I had planned for that chapter did not work at all and I needed to change it, which subsequently meant altering a large chunk of the planned interactions for several more chapters. Between needed to restructure my outline and working on my submission for the Ironstrange Advent Calendar, I've had to put a minor hold on that one (though a large portion of the rewritten chapter is already done). 
> 
> Obligatory "I own none of these characters (except sort of Peter's mom/Stephen's wife)". I owe a huge thanks to my friends merelypassingtime and Sarah for betaing. 
> 
> Oh, and the title comes from the Led Zeppelin song "The Battle of Evermore," with references Tolkien lore. I rather like the multiple connotations there.

Closing the door behind him, Stephen Strange released a deep sigh as he glanced around the unlit penthouse. The large space was entirely dark, save for the single light above the kitchen sink, which Karen always left on for him when she knew he would be arriving after she’d gone to bed. He’d insisted from the start that it was pointless, that he could simply turn on the light near the front door, but she’d pointed out that it was her way of taking care of him after work, even when she was sleeping. 

 

Plus, she’d kill him if he woke her up by turning on the entryway light, which unfortunately shone into their bedroom. She  _ had _ to have everything pitch black for her to sleep, otherwise she’d wake and complain, usually poking him in the ribs until he got up and turned off whatever light was offending her so. 

 

A small smile lit his face as he made his way to the kitchen, trying to be quiet as he deposited his keys in the bowl on the kitchen counter, then headed for the wet bar to make himself a stiff drink. Christ, had the day been a doozy. West, as always, was a prick. An  _ ignorant _ prick at that, which was so much worse. Christine insisted that he wasn’t as awful as Stephen thought, that he was a brilliant doctor in his own right. That, he was sure, was only a position she held because West willingly spent his career in her butcher shop, no doubt letting plenty of patients die because he was too lazy or incompetent to find a solution, or both. To Stephen, being a doctor meant finding solutions to save lives for decades down the road, and saving those that no one else could. People like West and Christine were far more concerned about quantity today, not quality tomorrow. Certainly, boredom with the drudgery of simple cases played a part in Stephen’s picks, but there was a good reason he could pick and choose his cases. There was no point in wasting his talents. 

 

Pouring a whiskey straight, Stephen kicked off his shoes, removed his jacket, and left them somewhere in the vicinity of the kitchen table. Taking a seat at the sofa, he took a long sip from his drink, and eased back into the cushions. Took a deep breath. Released it. Took another sip of whiskey, and allowed the tension of the day to melt in the stillness of the room.

 

Until he heard the tell-tale sound of tiny feet hitting the floor, and the subsequent attempt of said feet to move quietly down the hallway. 

 

Caught between exacerbation and amusement, Stephen rested his chin in his hand, watching out the window as he listened to the footsteps creep closer. He couldn’t help a small chuckle as his son clearly grew tired of going slow, and instead attempted to jog with light feet. He turned his head towards the source in time to see Peter come careening around the corner, his ever present grin on his face. As Peter opened his mouth, Stephen quickly brought his finger to his lips, and glanced in the direction of the master bedroom. His son, bright boy that he was, closed his lips instantly, before rushing forward to jump up beside him on the sofa. 

 

“Dad!” The five year old cried in a whisper-shout. He leapt up from his seat on the couch to wrap his arms around his father’s neck, nearly knocking the glass of whiskey out of Stephen’s hand in the process. 

 

“Peter, careful!” Stephen admonished, though he did reciprocate the hug- one-handed, using the other to hold the glass far away from his exuberant child. “What have I told you about jostling people when they are holding something?”

 

The boy, shame faced, pulled back enough to look away from his father. “I’m sorry. I’m just glad you’re home.” 

 

Lord, and if putting that kind of expression on Peter’s face wasn’t enough to pull at the heartstrings. Even a hardened heart like his own. Brushing a hand down Peter’s hair, he pulled the boy back into his side with a sigh. “That’s alright, Pal. I know. I missed you, too.”

 

Short seconds passed of silence. Peter made himself comfortable, burrowing into Stephen’s side like a dog at its’ pillow. After some discomfort, Peter settled on wrapping his arms around his father’s torso as best as he could, digging his bony chin between Stephen’s fourth and fifth ribs. Glancing down, Stephen found Peter’s large, brown eyes gazing up at him expectantly. Stephen raised his brow in question.

 

“Yes?”

 

“Read to me!”

 

“‘Read to me’ what?”

 

“Daddy,  _ please _ can you read to me?”

 

Nodding his head in the direction of the coffee table, Stephen took a sip of his whiskey. “Get the book.”

 

Grinning as if it were Christmas morning (and  _ Christ _ did that kid greet most mornings like Christmas. Stephen could hardly keep up with all the positivity, but he’d admit it always brought a smile to his face- or at least made him smile inwardly), Peter leaned out as far as he could reach without vacating his seat, grabbing up the book from the coffee table as Stephen held his son by the back of his Captain America pajamas to keep him from falling. Sitting back against his father, Peter held out the book for him to take. Setting down his whiskey on the coffee table, he took the offered volume as he wrapped one arm about Peter’s body to keep him tucked into the circle of his arms.

 

“Chapter 12, remember? Bilbo had just entered the mountain!”

 

Fighting back a smile, Stephen nodded. “That's a good memory. Thank you.”

 

Clearing his throat, Stephen opened up to where they left off and began to read. 

 

“ _ The Hobbit _ , Chapter 12. When midday came he got ready for another journey down into the Mountain. He did not like it of course, but it was not so bad now he knew, more or less, what was in front of him...”

 

Perhaps his colleagues might view him as stuck up and pompous (which, to their credit, he was), but he did enjoy letting loose a bit when it came to reading to Peter. Once, when he was reading  _ Twenty-Thousand Leagues Under the Sea _ , Peter had complained at how all the characters sounded the same, and it made it difficult for him to follow. So, he’d begun to do slight alterations to his voice for each character. By the end of the book, the voices had come to differ so completely from one another, he rather thought he’d make a good voice actor in another life. When it came to  _ The Hobbit _ , Stephen had taken great pleasure in finding voices for each character, even discussing them with Karen in passing. She, of course, had found it incredibly charming, and laughed at him for taking it so seriously. He could only smile back at her teasing, his heart feeling lighter. 

 

She hadn’t laughed  _ quite _ so much when he’d demonstrated his idea for Smaug’s voice. Oh, it had certainly gotten a reaction out of her, just not the kind that left the bedroom. 

 

"Well, thief! I smell you and I feel your air. I hear your breath,” Stephen growled in a low, slow voice. Glancing at Peter from the corner of his eye as he felt tiny hands grip him tighter, he could see the boy’s eyes widen with concern. He was always painfully empathetic to the characters in books, and he was clearly worried for poor Bilbo, up against the gravelly voiced creature. “Come along! Help yourself again, there is plenty and to spare!"

 

Looking back down at his son, he nodded at the book. “Do you think Bilbo should try to approach the gold?” 

 

“No!” Peter shook his head vehemently. “No, no, no! Smog is  _ bad _ . He’s  _ lying _ , he just wants to eat him!”

 

“Smaug,” Stephen corrected quietly. “And I think you’re right. Bilbo should listen to your advice.”

 

Peter squinted at his father, his lips twisted in something that could have been a pout or a thinking face. “But...this is a  _ book _ , and he can’t hear me. And you  _ know _ what’s gonna happen, ‘cause you read it already.”

 

Snorting chuckles erupted from the surgeon despite himself. Peter might have inherited his mother’s kindness, but that snark was all from him. 

 

“Maybe I just forgot.”

 

“You never forget anything, dad.”

 

Oh yes, that snark was his.

 

Rolling his eyes in turn, he held his arms out in dramatic fashion. “Well, forgive me for trying to make it a more interactive experience.”

 

Grinning toothily, Peter reached up and patted his father on the head. “It’s okay. You tried your best.”

 

It was hard to fight back his answering laughter, but he did just to mess with the boy a bit more. “Alright, fine then,” he said with faux exacerbation, closing the book and moving to set it on the table. “If my talents are going to go so underappreciated, perhaps it would be best if we call it a night and-”

 

“No!” Peter covered his mouth as his voice came out loud, and they both turned to glance at the door to the master bedroom. When no noise was heard after several moments, the boy let out a relieved sigh and looked up at his dad with pleading eyes. “ _ Please _ keep going! I wanna hear what happens next!”

 

Pretending to think the matter over, Stephen allowed for his son to stew for a second or two before nodding slowly. “Alright, I suppose we can read a  _ little _ more. Why don’t you climb into bed and I’ll read to you there?”

 

Peter practically dragged his father to his bedroom, eager to hear the rest. He climbed under the covers and made room for his father, who sat down at the edge of the bed and opened the book with a flourish. 

 

“Now, where were we?”

 

“Smog was trying to lure Bilbo closer!”

 

“Smaug,” Stephen corrected absently. Clearing his throat, he continued to read. He carried on for some time, switching between the coarse, unnerving voice of Smaug to the skittish yet grounded voice of Bilbo, all the while listening for Peter’s breaths to even out. 

 

“"I tell you," he said, in an effort to remain loyal to his friends and to keep his end up, "that gold was only an afterthought with us. We came over hill and under hill, by wave and win, for "Revenge". Surely, O Smaug the unassessably wealthy, you must realize that your success has made you some bitter enemies?"” Stephen spoke in an octave higher than his usual voice, and glanced to the side to look at his son. Peter was out like a light, and now that Stephen had fallen silent he could hear soft nasally snores filling the room at a regular interval. Frowning a bit, Stephen felt Peter’s forehead with the back of his hand, relieved to find it of normal temperature. Allergies, perhaps? He made a mental note to check on him in the morning. He’d let Karen know, too. Setting the book aside, he pulled the covers over Peter more firmly, turned off the bedside lamp, checked the window to ensure it was closed and locked tight, then exited the room as quietly as a wily hobbit. 

**Author's Note:**

> So as a final note: I know Peter's mom's name in canon is Mary, but I just love the idea of Peter naming the AI in his suit after his mother, and since I had that opportunity I took it. ;)


End file.
